Wasted Years
by sweetysaucy
Summary: In some weird-probably-inappropriate-insane-for-sure way they left a tiny breach of their lives open for each other. They're meeting in the space between. The past, so stamped with injuries, might tell you a different story if you actually look into it. AU Post S7.
1. Chapter 1

**(I intend to work their relationship through the years, establishing some sort of dynamics between past and present events. I'm a true believer of the fact that there's much more to them than sex, distrust and hurt as they've showed us, though I also believe that some behaviors were and **_**are**_** inevitable. **

**I'm thinking Cuddy will seem a little odd at the present, but I guarantee it will be explained. Advanced apologies for any errors! Though I reviewed it, I confess I was a bit absentmindedly. )**

**Disclaimer: Seriously?**

MICHIGAN, 80'S

He was balancing on top of the porch of some idiot guy who happened to have lots of beer in his apartment; and by then, it was convenient enough for the night. He wasn't really sure more than twenty people were crowded there, but it didn't make a difference. He was bored.

So, he was there equilibrating next to this _other idiot - _which House was hoping to slip, fall down the forth floor and land hard on the ground – mainly because they have lost this stupid bet and therefore were obligated to sing out loud _"We Are The Champions"_ while remaining steady on top of the wall.

House was surprisingly laughing, holding a bottle of beer in the air when she came out through the glass door, a look of uncertainty as she spotted him there. He'd seen her before; he'd came here in the hopes of finding her – you know, a friend of a friend told she might make an appearance. And when he didn't find her he'd decided to start drinking and smoking and doing whatever the hell that might entertain him through the night. But she was there.

The sight of her shook his structure a bit; the explosive chorus dying in his lips as his current position suddenly became much dangerous.

Though all he could managed was a grin – getting a response as her neck tilted to the side, her lips contracting like he was something _rather unbelievable_ for her standards. The brunette girl moved towards the tub full of beers and ice, grabbing one before making her way out without establishing eye contact again.

"Hey!" he called out "Aren't you afraid I'm gonna jump?"

She turned around. "The idiocy is more concerning than the jump."

House lifted one feet "What about now?" he asked, his torso moving left and right, arms opened like wings in the air while he spotted the look of horror crossing her features before the several steps forward she gave.

"Are you insane?!"

"You _are_ afraid then?" he pushed; raising his eyebrows and making her roll her eyes. House pretended to stumbled and she gasped "Are you?!" he shouted.

"Fine! Yes! Whatev—"

He jumped.

House landed loudly on his two feet a few centimeters at her front, startling her again. He took a deep breath, steadying the rise and fall of his chest casually. "The question is… Why?"

She stared, dumbfounded, blinking without any plausible word crossing her mind for her to pronounce. When she finally released air she chuckled, missing the excited light taking over his eyes and the devilishly smile he made while studying her.

"I'm Greg House" he said, even though it wasn't necessary. She shook her head in an attempt to get rid of disbelief and opened her mouth to say that she was— "I know who you are" he quickly interrupted.

They were too close, too damn close for him to be running his eyes like a maniac through her and yet she couldn't divert her gaze away. Greg tossed his empty bottle aside and took hers without a word, bringing it to his lips for a long gulp.

She opened her mouth and babbled. Every little thing he did was sudden and at the same time full of certainty; though it didn't make him any less _insane_. He was reckless and meticulous. He was… "Do you… If you… There are lots of bottles for you to take, you know?!"

He smirked. "I like the idea of sharing germs with you, Lisa Cuddy."

It didn't matter what her reaction was, once he took her hand and started to guide them inside of the living room that was currently the dance floor.

* * *

PRINCETON, RECENT DAYS

There were booze and a lot of nurses. Few moribund patients, innumerous drunk stupid doctors.

And there was her.

Mrs. Wilson-The-Forth was nodding towards the band so "I Know This Much Is True" could fill the ambiance for their dance.

House did his best to pay attention. He tried _so_ hard to the point that merely _trying _made him want to laugh, because the whole thing was so ridiculous and cheesy, and for God sake, Wilson and his twenty-six old wife were _crying_. House closed his eyes.

When he diverted his gaze, he spotted her standing the other way of the room, looking straight ahead, sucking her cheeks, lips contracting. And he felt like he was going to literally die if he continued to swallow his laughter, seeing _her_ equal struggle.

They were watching the grooms but couldn't stop matching gazes at the corner of their eyes.

Cuddy contracted her abdomen and that was it: she chuckled and instantly sealed her lips, being impossible to not lift her cheeks while she tried, oh she tried, to not to see his grin across the saloon. She covered her mouth with a hand and excused herself in rapid steps towards the porch.

She could hear the song ending and people clapping, but was still presenting the lack of breath from the remains of her uncontrollable burst of laughter. Her downed vision spotted a cane slowly touching the floor next to her side.

She chuckled. "I'm supposed to hate you"

House was grinning, quickly turning to see her outrageously beautiful smile and then facing the open sky like she was.

"Yeah?"

Cuddy shrugged. "Can't do it forever, can I?"

And their eyes met. Gazes lighted up by amusement, smiling blatantly through corneas.

Two years felt like fucking twenty.

"You're old." she said.

"And you're defying nature" House rebated, causing her to smile trustless.

She was the first to get lost into the night sky again. "But you're ok, though."

"For a criminal" she then completed with a smirk.

He hesitated. Heart racing dangerously, his body playing pranks on him. "At least I didn't laugh through their first Frank Sinatra dance. I'm trying here."

"I heard they're doing a Bee Gees one as well. _Disco_"

They laughed in their own private way. He thought she thought this easiness was for the best. When it vanished, House looked down, spinning his cane inside his hand.

"How are you?" he said. He wanted to kill himself after, still he glazed at her.

And felt like singing the bloody Bee Gees while analyzing her face.

"I'm good." She nodded. "I'm married."

"So I've heard."

"Yeah…" she murmured, smiling softly.

House bent his head upwards, silent for a moment, as if figuring out what to say. "Thank God he is taller than you. And age appropriate."

She laughed, making his blood and bones crazy, moving haywire around his system. He knew she was married. He knew she was happy. He knew she deserved it.

It ached like acid inside his guts, but as long as she was talking, as long as she was laughing, he'd say whatever the hell normal people say – even though normal people don't crash their cars into people's house.

Cuddy moistened her lips and adjusted the bracelet on her wrist. "I had a baby. A boy"

She saw the smile on his eyes, and her heart burned. "Congratulations." he pronounces, a majestic low voice impacting the soft breeze. She wanted him to know. Yet there was nothing like seeing the proud inside his eyes, as if she'd done it right. Without ever admitting, she enjoyed thinking that it somehow pleased him.

"_Finally_, right?"

"Please don't tell me that you named him Princeton Plainsboro."

Lisa chuckled and tried to roll her eyes. "He's going to be one next month. You think I can get any donations?"

"Anything with you" he mumbled, leaning his back on the porch so he could study her.

For a period they've been quietly staring, eyes softly dancing by the sound of their own secret language, even when other guests appeared outside and disturbed the melancholic muteness they were sharing.

"It's good to see you, House." she said. He doesn't know if she means it, or even what does it means.

Silence fell again momentaneously.

"Surprisingly" he replied and they both smirked.

"I should go back."

House nodded; drinking her in, all that eyes could reach. He felt crazy. He felt again whatever he didn't feel anymore.

"Take care." Cuddy said, forcing her feet to move. "And do your clinic"

"No fun skipping it without you." He said to her back.

She turned simply to roll her eyes.

And she was gone.

* * *

NEW YORK, ONE MONTH LATER

She was putting the candles on top of the glace, focused in not ruin it, when the door bell rang.

"Keith, can you get that for me?"

"Tell your son to get over his people phobia and I will" he replied, holding a cranky baby in his arms. She sighed loudly and stopped what she was doing, passing through her husband who was currently laughing at her reaction.

She got out of the kitchen, crossing the living room filled with noise of conversation, laugher and screaming children to open the entrance and greet Keith's brother with a hug.

He handed her one box. "This was outside your door. Someone must have dropped it."

She frowned. "My present is being delivery next week, by the way. Boy, you're so gonna hate me" he whispered, patting her shoulder.

But Cuddy was too much concentrated on the blue wrapped box to reply, examining it with uncertainty. Attached to the matching color bow, there was a cranked little paper.

"Rachel, stop running" she said without the need to check it was _indeed_ Rachel who had just bumped into her.

Lisa collected the note and her heart skipped a beat.

"_To Princeton Plainsboro,_

_1__st__ donation_

H"

She smiled like butterflies were pulling on the corners of her mouth.

"Honey, c'mon! Let's take the picture with the birthday boy" Keith called out, standing in front of the decorated table. She put down the note and the box, taking her son from Keith's arm with a foolish although melancholic smile. Then she looked up at her husband and kissed him just before Rachel came running in their directions with a jump.

Now she could hear guests outside, while sitting on the bathroom toilet with a tiny piece of paper between her fingers.

She connected the phone to her ear.

"I received your present."

"What present?" he said after a torturous moment "It's a _donation_. I expect to see results in return."

She smiled. "Sure. Should I send the monthly report to Dr. James Wilson?"

"Hey, it's a guitar! Just because Wilson paid for it, doesn't mean I didn't help your child not turning into a Backstreet Boy."

Cuddy almost felt like he could see her eyes rolling. "Thank you."

"Eh, whatever. Why does your voice sound echoed?"

Of course he'd notice that.

"I'm in the bathroom." She honestly answered without knowing why. "_Hiding_." She corrected.

"What kind of mother does that?!"

"Oh, give me a break. My son fell asleep as soon as we parted the cake."

"Well, we can't say _PP_ did get the _partypants's_ gene."

"His name is _Anthony_. And I'm getting out of the bathroom."

"Okay"

"Thank you."

"You've already said that."

She breathed loudly. "Then I take it back." Cuddy moistened her lips, her tongue dancing inside her mouth through a thoughtful period. She convinced herself that she did not control what she said next. "Are you going to Harrisburg's conference next week?"

House scoffed. "No way. I'm currently doing three more hours in the clinic so Foreman would set me free."

"Three? That's just absurd. You should be doing at least five in order to—"

"Yeah, but you didn't see the low-cut top he was wearing. Tradition goes on..."

"Ha-ha. _Right_. Go wipe those noses then."

"Go feed the smelly kids."

She hung up.

* * *

PRINCETON PLAINSBORO, LATER 90'S

As soon as she opened the door, his blurred, red corneas matched hers as if she was some sort of angel. "Oh, God." She whispered, staring at his shaking hands holding the edge of the clinic bed with pale knuckles. "Wait a second"

House freed a loud gasp between his teeth, shutting his burning eyelids after staring at the ceiling. He tried to calm down when he recognized her heels clapping outside the door and quickly heading inside the exam room again.

"The pills are not working?" she asked in concern, her hand on his trembling shoulder.

"I ran out of Vicodin." He grunted, grip tightening on the mattress.

"Why didn't you call me?!"

"First time I'm sober enough to _exist_" he mumbled and next he hit a hand against the stretcher "Just give me something for the pain!"

Cuddy startled but recovered fast and moved her hands to the button of his jeans. No further exams were needed. The pain was chaotic. However, his trembled hands interrupted and blue eyes fell on top of hers, a silent plea being completed when he extended an arm to expose his vein.

Lips contracted when her eyes filled up with pain. She held his other hand tighter. "House, calm down okay? The pain will pass. Calm down."

She thought he would fight harder for the IV injection, but instead he just moved both palms to press hard against his ogles. He realized how fast she had done everything in the moment he felt the needle against the skin of his thigh, and his nerves started to sit down by the mere though of morphine entering his system.

"No woman has ever made me feel the way you do" he groaned in mockery after several moments, eyes still shut, breathing in and out.

The world felt bearable again.

House acknowledged her touch against his bicep, rubbing the extensity of his skin somehow comforting - and he wanted to tell her not to stop; it was the best thing he thought he felt in ages. But as soon as he considered leaning into her touch, she interrupted it, causing his vision to open.

"You look like crap." she stated nonchalantly "When was the last time you ate?"

"I'm on a diet."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. A few seconds later she heard his hoarse voice filling the room. "Stacy left."

"I know."

He looked away, suddenly conscious enough to feel pathetic. "Stop pitting me."

"Why?" she replied, almost angry "Being in pain is pathetic? Controllable?" they stared again and Cuddy looked at him like he was the biggest idiot in the world. As if she could read the parts of him that he could not stand. "Shut up."

House liked that. She dismissed the pity, unlike him. She was the first person who treated him normally – not afraid, not tiptoeing. Most of all, not scared by what he'd become.

"Pain on scale of one to ten" Cuddy asked.

"Minutes ago I'd say twenty two, now I'd say about seven" he smirked and saw a little relief passing through her.

"Let's go to my office and then I'll feed you."

House looked at her wide-eyed, theatrically faking astonishment which Cuddy ignored "Can you move?" she approached when he sat up.

He motioned at her for the crutches leaned against the wall and she quickly grabbed it. "This is Lisa and this is Cuddy" he explained lifting one crutch at a time before using the pair to stand up.

"I'm honored." she murmured absentmindedly, holding the door for him to pass and waiting to walk by his side.

"The scar is taking longer to heal than I anticipated." Cuddy spoke then quietly.

"You're a lousy doctor. Thought you knew that, you know, by being an administrator."

She sighed. They were entering her office when she asked "Does it hurt?"

For the first time his blue eyes crossed deeply inside of hers.

"Only when I look at it."

* * *

HARRISBURG, AROUND 10PM

"Thank you" she said to the barman.

"I've always had this fantasy" a sudden voice made its appearance. Lisa closed her eyes with a smile. "The lady sits alone in the bar…"

She propped her elbow on top of the table to lean her chin on her hand, opening her grayish pupils that sent electricity towards him.

"You said you weren't coming." she calmly stated.

House shrugged. They weren't smiling. Perhaps both acknowledged it wasn't safe territory anymore.

They were alone.

"I'm leaving before midnight" Cuddy said – her face blank of expressions, only her pair of eyes landing over him with slight curiosity. She wasn't sure if what she'd spoke was in order to reassure herself or inform him. Or both.

"I know"

She lifted one eyebrow in false understanding. He would have told her that he'd arrived in the morning after presenting symptoms similar to madness while running around his apartment attempting to not think about her. He'd started to feel his torturing, disturbing death approaching by the time he was _so_ close to her, whilst waiting in the hotel room, cowering up, sweating like a pig.

He would have told her. But to give her no response sounded more plausible considering whatever they're doing – once their silent pact suggested they wouldn't talk about any of that.

"Okay." Cuddy nodded, frowning.

_Say something, _he thought, thinking much of saying something and forgetting to come up with actual words to pronounce.

But he couldn't say anything. He'd screw things up. And she would go; fuck, she can't go!

House started to recognize the symptoms that for a miracle didn't show externally. Nerveless, she knew better. _Obviously_ she did.

"You know, it's not like you can do much more to me, House."

She wasn't angry, but wasn't kidding even less. What he picked up from her tone was that his behavior was not the path she wanted things to go. Always so bossy, he could have replied.

Regardless his silence, he expressed the first compact conclusion that crossed his disturbed mind. "I missed you, Cuddy."

House tapped his fingers once or twice at the darkened wood of the balcony, aware that his body had not gone moonstruck, but had simply frozen. His deep gaze stared at her for seconds, moving quickly to the left and right, only to return down later.

Her cheeks lifted softly. "I know." Cuddy replied, searching for his eyes. When she got no answer at all she childishly pushed him with one shoulder, smiling widely when he tried to ignore her.

But it didn't make things softer as reality stubbornly came back to them. He circled the top of her glass with one finger, cold dead inside, trying to figure out how he could do it right, if things could ever be right and…

"I am… I'm s—" her index finger immediately posed against his lips, drawing a quizzical look from him.

Damn.

Her face was stunning, a royal sculpture glancing directly at him; till the point of making him swallow hard, due to her touch, to her beauty, to her self-assurance. It made him weak. Right at the moment, he didn't care.

"Don't screw this up." she said, her hoarse, beautiful voice tingling inside his ears.

He felt crazy when he saw her eyes. And her pale, porcelain skin, how he'd died to touch her. So, very slowly, to the point it wasn't even certain that he was moving, his lips started to open, his hot breath coming out on her finger and tingling. Cuddy rested her eyes.

He was still analyzing her, feeling inch by inch as his nerves raised, his body instantly responding to her in every way, although he didn't caught himself thinking about it carnally because of all the emotions crushing back and overwhelming him with feelings, what he did felt was _hurt_.

The connection was killed. Cuddy flinched on her seat, staring straight ahead. After a while he did the same.

"I read your article." She said. He promptly took the lead.

"What'd you think?"

"I think… That you really just spent years working hard at trying to piss me off."

"Duh-hu"

Cuddy snapped at him wrathful. "How many times have I asked you to write a damn article?!" he grinned and she rolled her eyes, still letting something about her attitude show him she wasn't that pissed. "It was really good, House."

"Eh." he groaned, trying to hide the fact that it made him feel good, simply because she read it. He was pathetically projecting her taking his words in, absent about everything else in the world. Somehow she had dedicated some precious time of her life to him.

The tremor of her phone against the counter drove both of their attention to the lighted screen and, unlike he'd thought, she didn't hesitated to answer because he was near.

"Hey" she said softly, smiling so tenderly that a sudden jealously made him sick to his guts. He heard remnants of the voice on the other side of the line with a clenched jaw. "Not after 2PM, I believe. Yeah, I know it's late…" Cuddy smiled widely for some reason House was prevented to know "How are they?" laughs "Yeah? Well, _good_." What he could tell now, was that she was _flirting_. He could never, ever mistake that look on her face. "Okay. I miss you guys too! Make sure Rachel did go to bed. _Ha_. Thank you. Prepare something good for me to eat." If he was her husband, he'd tell her to eat _him_. "That'll do" House looked for traces that his dirty reply had not been stolen by that guy, for his own despair being unable to tell. "I will. Okay. Me too. Bye."

She had ended the call just to the point where he was almost throwing up, realizing he should release the air he wasn't even sure how long he'd been holding. House diverted his gaze.

"Do you want to see him?" Cuddy asked, confusing the hell out of him. Without waiting for a response she started browsing through her cell phone until she handed it over to him. He instantly let his eyes fall to the picture of this dark haired, chubby little boy. He was smiling toothless towards the camera, his toe shoved into his mouth. It was an impossible job not to smile seeing it, though House did his best. He focused on the dark blue sparkling eyes of the baby, his heart beating faster against his chest. Unfortunately, it wasn't Cuddy's eyes he saw.

Giving the phone back to her, he mumbled "He looks nothing like you."

"I know! It's not fair." Lisa replied, foolishly lost at the sight of the picture.

"Not at all" he whispered, studying her with dark intensity.

No one could deny she was better off without him. He'd prevented her all these years from the gentle happiness that was currently impregnated on her whole body. His throat tightened.

He loved her madly. To the edge of rage and cholera.

He could never have given her what he was seeing.

House massaged his leg, moving his eyes to his jeans. "You're going to be late"

She came out of her thoughts, her eyes flinching as she recognized his pain. Cuddy sighed, urging to touch him. How was she supposed to say goodbye? They'd see each other again? When? Wilson's 5th wedding?

She tried to dismiss all of it when her hand grabbed his bicep. Drawing his attention, without even a self warn, she hugged him tightly, feeling the alert running over his muscles when she took him out of guard. Cuddy fought back the tears blurring her vision, feeling him so close, his intoxicant smell and the warmth of his skin.

Then he held her back, despaired for a moment due to his stupid lack of response, and wrapped his strong arms around her frame, almost taking her out of her seat on the stool. They breathed each other in, her eyes closing painfully when she felt him smelling her hair, his nose tucked between her ear and neck, the whole area burning with the contact. She couldn't say that she'd forgotten how it felt, how _he_ felt, but any memory, any dream, would never compare to the sensation that wildly pierced her spirit. He held her possessively, with strength that could only come from the depths of his wrecking being.

Silently begging her not to go; in hopes that she would get the message. Their sin was to always expect an accurate understood from the other, communicating only what was truly necessary. But their timing was always off.

Tick when she tacked.

House felt her touch starting to dissipate and knew it was time to let go. If only he could stay a little longer, if only he could kiss her hair, her cheek, maybe touch her lips so softly, if only…

He swallowed hard, some tenant inner monster squeezing his heart inside his claws as he pulled away, trying not to make eye contact and surprisingly accomplishing it. He knew Cuddy was sliding out of the bench and for a moment was very close to him, her hand brushing his arm for seconds that he did not dare to respond her sad eyes, ashamed of whatever he'd show on his own. Her touch slowly died.

House kept staring at her cup on the balcony long after she'd gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey! I'm so sorry for the delay. The most badass flu was the only reason I could finish this chapter since I'm staying home for a few days. Please don't kill me for the possible errors and know you all can correct me anytime. I'll try my very best to update sooner. The reviews were AMAZING. Thanks to all of you and I hope you guys keep reading.**

**(_HuddyForever_ thanks for the considerable comment. English is not my first language, though I try my best - I confess I'm pretttty lazy. I corrected the first chapter. As for the "flashbacks", different scenes connected to the history was my point from the beginning. Thank you so much for your review and please let me know your opinion on this)**

**KEEP YOUR HUDDY HEART STRONG AND HAVE FAITH. And also keep in mind that I'm not David Bloody Shore.**

HOUSE'S APARTMENT

It was the saddest night of all, he decided.

Two weeks.

Dragging day after another, since he had last seen her. Heard her voice and smelled her- House stops immediately, eyes shut.

He shouldn't be expecting anything. He didn't even know he _was_until it all came crumbling down and ached. He pulsated. Not ready.

He guessed he never was.

But right now he's playing this particular song, repeatedly, playing terribly, still amending every note to the incessant beginning; he's violating the keyboard, fond to the thought of being capable to destroy the arrangement, rip the melody apart. Suck every beating emotion of it.

_Her_ song.

His hands abruptly quit, fingers on the edge of numbness. The urge to punch the piano is contained.

He's pretty sure it's around midnight, which makes him wonder why in hell Wilson would call at that time. He stared intensely at the vibrating phone pondering the pros of answering it (perhaps believing his gaze could make it stop).

"What?" He snaps. House could almost picture the reaction he provoked; however, this time, the other voice was particularly blank. Mindful, still... Off.

"Can you... Come over? I need to show you something."

"But I've already told you that you have to choose between me and your wife. You can't have both, Jimmy." He replied and there was no trace of humor in his voice.

Either way. Wilson didn't seem to hear a word he'd said. "Just be here, House."

As soon as the call finished, House drank the whiskey left in his cup. He tried to feel intrigued by Wilson's strange behavior, though remained apathetic: his wife had probably left him or cheated or spent all his money.

He pressed a single key of the piano, looking down as its sound spread around the room.

* * *

PRINCETON, AFTER WILSON'S GONE

Everything was familiar and it made him feel as if his brain was on the bridge of exploding. The girl was dancing at his front: Familiar or not, he was never good distinguishing stripers. Here's this lady, twenty-something, half naked, brown hair, 5'3" (without the six inch heels); using green contact lens. Facts.

He wasn't aroused or even less processing what his eyes saw. The music, the lights, the dance – it was all disturbing.

He was numb.

But House couldn't forget that look _at him_ through the glass. Showing hurt. Betrayal. Anger.

Showing everything that could not be forgiven.

As he escaped a daze, he acknowledged that maybe she was too pretty, or just a big contrast with the place; either way everyone in the strip club looked at Lisa Cuddy when she walked in. She spotted him quickly, without flinching or hesitating. He watched her legs moving closer to his direction and almost laughed. It wasn't long ago that he'd had an interesting fantasy in which she operated in this particular universe.

She stared with that impervious look of hers. House sustained it. "Can we go?" Cuddy asked.

"You come here too? Nice," he mumbled. His eyebrows rose when she gave another step forward, the stripper right in front of her, oblivious or disinterested in their interaction.

"Tell me you're not drinking this." She pointed at the bottle of tequila in his hands.

House approached it to his lips, stopping just to say "I'm not drinking."

As always, she moved faster than expected, making the liquid spell over him whilst the bottle was taken away from his reach. He clenched his jaw though it didn't affect her.

Cuddy sat in the red stool in front of him. "Do you want to die?"

"Yes. Goodbye."

"I am worried about you."

It didn't matter if the music was still playing, neither if across the room a stripper laughed out loud: it was one of those impacting phrases, a type he would make fun at the movies, but it felt as if everything had suddenly stopped. Not one bit of emotion crossed his features, a mere hint of surprise; though his brain was processing in matters of seconds all the clues about her – and perhaps _seeking_ for more: a blink of an eye, the slight twitch on her mouth. For better or for worse, what he read between the lines was exactly what she had stated: she was worried about him. Period.

"Just because we were holding hands in a haze, doesn't mean we're now, Mulder & Scully running towards the horizon."

She would rather have him slapping her, but her pose remained stoic. He always had this urge to push her away humiliating her – mainly fearing it could happen to him. Cuddy moistened her lips. "I won't force you to come with me, I just know that your body can't handle all of this" she gestured through the air "_You_ can't handle this."

"So you don't think I killed her?" He asked (his particular style of response) with such lightness it seemed like they were discussing basketball. To his disappointment, the apparent nonchalance didn't fool her – in fact, it spoke louder about his despair. His guilt.

These times, she was always uncertain about him: whether House was indeed what she saw or merely a projection of her mind. However, she conceded, he was probably _much more_.

Cuddy hurt for him, but preferred not to show. "You didn't kill her." She assured.

"I didn't give her the medication, didn't cause the accident; Nonetheless, she was on the bus because of me."

"And why were you on the bus?"

House frowned. "What? What does it matter—"

"You were on the bus because you were drunk because you were in pain because you had an infarction because life is not fair" Cuddy exalted herself. "If it was me, telling you that same situation, you would call me a narcissist idiot and make me understand in the most brutal way that yeah, the world sucks. You can make a thousand excuses to blame or forgive yourself. Or you can move on until it is a silent thought in the back of your head."

It popped into his mind a slightly younger Cuddy, blaming herself for making her employee fix the roof when he claimed sickness. Maybe what he needed here, was to see the _giant gap in between_.

"Easy for you to say. You've sold your heart long ago to gain that seat on your fancy chair." He replied, feeling a bit, almost insignificantly, better by seeing her roll her eyes. "A _huge, astronomical_ seat." House pushed.

She scolded at him. "Yeah, very nice. Now, can we leave?!" Cuddy pleaded between her teeth, for the first time gazing the naked dancer with a mix of curiosity and horror.

"Such a buzz killer you are." He murmured, standing up.

Stepping out of the strip club House acknowledged, Tequila or no Tequila: He liked her. He liked her _too_ much.

* * *

The following day of the midnight-mysterious call, House entered Wilson's office, finding it strangely empty. As he sat around and waited, his impatience only increased.

The door suddenly opened to reveal Foreman on the other side. He made a grin of confusion. "What are you doing here? You have a case."

"Where's Wilson?" House replied.

"You haven't talked to him?"

"Yeah, but I stopped listening once he started complaining about his wife's frigidity."

Foreman rolled his eyes. "He took the day off. Now go to your office and do your job."

"Ok. I'll totally do that."

After a few moments, he limped towards the elevator under Foreman's gaze, simply to _make a point_.

He tried his best to wait a few more hours to go to Wilson's, though he and his team were waiting for the results to come back and lead them somewhere. By the beginning of the evening he was knocking at the door of the apartment once he'd lived (a distant memory now.).

"Hey best buddy" House exclaimed, stepping inside and pausing when he saw Cecilia standing in the hallway. "Cutthroat Bitch Two" he greeted.

The married couple rolled their eyes and House could only narrow his. "Ok. You can keep the car, but we're willing to fight for the apartment. Girls were never supposed to be allowed here anyway."

Mid phrase, Wilson handed him a scan.

Seconds later, a commentary "Sorry, another patient of yours is going to die. Was that it?"

Cecilia choked and covered her face, turning her back to them. And Wilson... Well, he kind of _laughed_.

The sound was disturbing.

"The exam... The exam is mine, House."

It was the saddest night of all, he'd decided.

* * *

HOUSE'S BUILDING,

The dawn was nearly ending when she locked her car doors. She called and called, but nobody answered.

Again, she convinced herself she wasn't thinking. Needless to say, she was.

Cuddy's steps froze in the narrow hallway of his building. Sweaty, covered with dry blood on his clothes, House lay on the floor. It was the slightest hiss of his lips that told her he was alive.

"Oh, God" she hurried to him, kneeling at his side and turning his face. Panic was taking her control away, so she repeated the same sentence several times under her breath, before House suddenly gripped her body and she held him back.

It was different this time. He was barely thinking straight, blind by every kind of pain he had possibly ever known. He held her in despair.

Of all things she wanted to do in the world, it was to take his pain away.

House mumbled incoherent things while she shushed him vigorously, her heartbeats through the roof. His key was hanging on the doorknob being there probably since he fell. Anxiety filled her voice. "I need you to help me get you inside okay?" His eyes were shut, though she insisted. "Do you understand? House, I need you to help me just to get you inside."

His body was weak and injured, and although he tried, he had absolutely no control over his actions. She got him into a sitting position, extended her arm to roll the key and push the door open; then, somehow she dragged him inside, leaning his back on the first wall they reached.

She started to look with shaking hands for the source of the blood. At the moment, she almost told herself to calm down out loud. Upping his shirt, the sigh of his wound made her hiss, even when House seemed oblivious. It was then, that he started

"He's going to die, Cuddy. I know it, you know it, he knows it, he is going to die, he is going to die—"

"He is not going to die."

Her tone was so strong that she could be saying any ridiculous statement that it would sound incontestable. Somehow, for this moment he was able to focus on the real world again.

Without any plausible reason, the sentence left his lips for a second time, and he repeated, one word stumbling at the other "Wilson is going to die, he is going to die—"

Her hands took hold on both sides of his face, gazing him deeply. "Do you hear me? He is not going to die. We're going to fight for him, like me and him fought for you all this time. He is not going to die, okay?"

House's breath was sharp, like he couldn't get enough air without puncturing his lungs. He looked so fragile, Cuddy thought he would cry. And it made_ her _cry tighten in her throat.

However, no sort of moistness made appear around his cold eyes. He closed his eyelids and the tired pain in this act made her see that his mind hadn't ceased the torture.

_He is going to die, he is going to die and he is going to die…_

On the edge of unconsciousness, he saw multiple projections of Cuddy. She moved like an angel and her touch always tickled. Her eyes were crystal pure. Her voice echoed in the living room, the bathroom, his bed; it was a heavenly lullaby, their silent orchestra. He felt like waves washed over his senses – he came… And go.

Go with her.

At times, he laughed. It is ok, he would repeat. It is all ok...

Though what rushed through his disintegrating mind was a simple remaining thought:

He didn't want to wake up. She might not be there, once again.

* * *

The wind sizzles somewhere. The glass of the window trembles. House blinks.

Silence.

"You're real" it's his first say.

She opens her eyes calmly, turning her head towards him. She's not startled since she hadn't been asleep. He figured as much by the rhythm of her breathing.

Her eyes filled with emotion. God, if she knew how that tormented him. "Of course I'm real" Cuddy assured.

He chose to believe her because it was somehow soothing. And most likely, a hallucination would deflect. Or so he liked to suppose.

He felt clean though completely sore. Her back leaned on the headboard, he wanted to rest his head against her thighs and close his eyes. His heart started to beat ridiculously faster.

It's past noon. He tried to search his mind for traces of the night before, but only quick flashes came through. She seemed to read his thoughts as she started speaking.

"I gave you a bath."

House almost distended his neck when he lifted it from the mattress. It made her laugh.

"I'm quite impressed. I thought you would pull me in with you."

House flickered several times. "Are you trying to be mean here?"

"Relax. Unless you're fond to necrophilia, nothing could possibly happen." That made one of his eyebrow move and Cuddy ignored him, snapping her tongue.

"That's..."

He didn't finish the sentence. Tons of feelings crossed his mind - the predominant was a shame.

Cuddy sighed, with those heartfelt eyes again. "I came as soon as Wilson called me."

He didn't want to talk so he stared at the ceiling. A few seconds later he asked: "Did you get any sleep?"

"Not really." She simply responded.

Sensing a strange heat spread through his body, the sight of her sitting on his bed became too much and he started to get up. After looking around searching for his cane he told her she should get some rest.

"Are you traveling to New York today?"

"That was the plan" Cuddy sort of moaned while she stretched. A part of him believed she was consciously torturing him.

"Great." He mumbled "I'll try to resist the urge to creepily watch you during your sleep."

Truth is, she spent long minutes with her head dived into his pillow, getting high with scents. It was so pathetically easy to call for him and be _his_ once more that she felt embarrassed. By the time she was visiting bittersweet memories of their past, she drifted into sleep.

Two hours later Cuddy woke up. Outside, rain was pouring ever so softly and it made her want to stay. There was only silence in the apartment.

In spite of herself, she stood up, stretching her muscles. Her bare foot tingled all the way to the living room as she adjusted her eyes to the little clarity. Cuddy spotted House looking out the window; the image of him in his pajamas pleased her too much for decency.

"I swear I didn't make rain" he murmured.

She smiles softly while approaching him.

"How are you feeling?"

House still didn't look her way when he replied "Hangovering." She quietly nodded out of his sight.

"I need to change the bandage of your stomach. It was pretty nasty last n-"

"Already done it." He interrupted, turning his head towards her. Cuddy dismissed the surprise and nodded again.

He was hurting, she could see. Because, House could mask pain when the slightest bit of him would amplify and distract others from seeing the scars. But there was no part of him free from pain today.

"House" she called. Shivers traveled her skin during moments of hesitance and his eyes fell over her, waited. "It's going to be okay. All of it"

House instantly retorts. "You don't know that"

"Yes, I do. You and I both know that there's a chance of the tumor shrinking and to full recovery."

"That's all very beautiful, forgetting there's also a chance it won't."

Cuddy looked down, moistened her lips. House didn't do comfort, she should've known.

She couldn't say she didn't understand why.

"I'm gonna make us some coffee"

"Hey" He called, once she'd turned around to give her first step. By reflex, House caught her wrist.

It burned, naturally, like two substances that could never be homogeneous. Her gaze watched his touch and then directed to his eyes.

He let go of her and she felt the area froze. "Thanks" he completed with a tiny movement of his head.

Dumbfounded, Cuddy only nodded, swallowing hard. She turned around and almost ran to the kitchen before she'd do something she would regret.

"So, " he began as she handed him one warm mug and sat next to him on the couch "how exactly did you put this pajama pants on me?"

Cuddy was astonished at first, before she rolled her eyes with a smile. "Of course, that's what's bothering you."

"Bothering, no. Intriguing, however…"

"If you must know, " she overcame his sentence "you showered _in_ your underwear, and after that I put a towel over you and helped you change."

He kind of smirked and Cuddy mirrored it. Though her apparent lack of embarrassment annoyed the hell out of him. "Such an honorable little nurse you are."

"And for your information, I _am_ a doctor."

"How is that going, by the way?" He asked, sipping the hot coffee. Keeping it casually since that seemed to be their _thing_.

She was thoughtful for a moment, which didn't go unnoticed by House. "Fine, I guess."

"Missing choking people's throat while stealing their money?"

Cuddy scolded at him. "Endocrinology, huh? Head?" he asked.

"Nope."

She recognized the smartass expression on his face. "Boy, you really hate it, don't you?"

"Not all the time… I often want to yell at them and say that's not the way they should do it and that the hospital is not going to be successful, _ever_, like this." House snorted a laugh, knowing her all too well. "Though I'm ok with being miserable there if I'm going to have time to be outrageously happy out of it."

Reasonable, he considered. He tried not read too much into her words and apply them in their past.

"You _are_ changed."

Cuddy turned her head to stare back. "Or maybe I'm just trying to mess with your world basic theory."

"Oh, people still don't change. I should have said 'Cuddy, you've changed your ways'. You see, you're always going to be a workaholic - though you went to your anonymous meetings and currently contain your urges."

Cuddy didn't respond. Instead, the sound of the rain soothed both of their senses. Maybe it was the lack of decent sleep, the soreness of their minds or the upcoming faith of Wilson. Maybe it was indeed their presence. But they had never wanted to stay somewhere this bad. Ironically, the clock on the living room warned them the passage of another hour.

"You really don't hate me?" He asked out of the blur.

Cuddy's cheeks turned red as she blinked several times.

"What?"

He shrugged, made a gesture between them. "What would your dear husband think of this?"

"This has nothing to do with him and you know it. Plus, it's my problem."

"What exactly is this about?!" Cuddy had no time to respond "Have you forgiven me?"

She shook her head vigorously. "I'm not doing this" she murmured, standing and walking towards his piano.

"What are you not doing?! Enlighten me, will ya?"

"Do you want to fight, House? Is that what you want?"

"I want you to give me something here, Cuddy. Sleeping in my bed, showing me pictures of your son. Whether you're smoking something really good or hell, you're just screwing with me—"

"I care, you moron!" She yelled. For a moment the noises of the world quit. Taking a deep breath, she passed a hand over her hair. "I will always care. Can't you see that I don't want to do this?" She gave him a weak saddened smile "It's exhausting, House. I don't have time to hate you anymore. It's easy to not do it now because you're no longer my entire life. And I want to enjoy that."

Her words stabbed him, making him look the other way. Again, impossible to argue.

Because maybe, if he was happy too, he wouldn't think about her that much. Or at least he wouldn't die every time he did it. It's easy not to feel anger when you yourself are not angry.

From the beginning he swore he wouldn't question - He would obey as long as it meant her staying and all the control suddenly slipped through his fingers. Perhaps since he had analyzed her wedding ring or because she would soon leave. And he couldn't take it. She had left far too many times while he _behaved_.

Cuddy started moving around picking her belongings, and he let her.

While putting her ballerinas on, her scratchy voice reborn "If everything goes the way I'm planning, I'll be back in a couple of days."

House frowned. "You're coming?" His reply made her glare pointedly at him.

"I said we were doing this together. For Wilson"

He nods. It's time and he would never get used to it.

_She doesn't have time_. Not anymore.

Their goodbyes were always a riddle. Even in his own insane mind, he would stop her at the door and tell her he always wanted to kiss her - and well, people do _not_ change.

She was waiting for him to look at her, unsuccessfully. So she called his name.

He took an annoyed breath before facing her. "Wilson needs us." She said with certain care, but House gave her one dry gesture of his head and turned it away, bringing the cold coffee to his lips.

It was by the door that he heard her footsteps ending motion. His whole body went alert, though not a single muscle dared to move.

_She will stay_, he thought.

He hoped. "I don't know if I forgave you, House. I think I just... Forgot."

Though he couldn't see her face, House pictured it vividly. And as no answer came, the door was opened to be quietly closed a few seconds later.

* * *

MICHIGAN, 80'S

"I have to go." She giggled "Seriously, I do have to go!"

House held his hands in the air. "Who's stopping you?"

"Give me my shoes, Gregory House."

"You didn't even have breakfast" he tried to whine, but it only came out as a smug commentary.

She brought her face closer to his, widening her eyes as if she was about to lose control and murder him. "Yes, I did! _You_."

He smiled, hearing her paraphrasing his earlier suggestion. House stood up, her shoes being revealed lying behind him. "Who on earth has class on Sunday, anyway?"

"I'm an overachiever."

"Me too. We should fool around." He said. Her smile made the stupidest things with him.

"You have my number."

"Sex phone during your boring, full-clothes-on class then?"

"Yeeeaaah, give it a try." Lisa encouraged mockingly. He pinned her against the door of his flat, all of a sudden, and she gasped.

"You didn't get any sleep. You should stay, rest."

She scoffed. "_Rest_. Sure"

His globes moves incessantly up and down: her mouth, her breasts, her eyes, her wet tongue— "Go to your damn class, you nerd." He breathed, stepping away before their position would encourage him any further.

However, Cuddy reached for him and turned his body for another savage kiss; they sought oxygen while their bodies collided. She smiled inside his mouth and he grunted.

"If you do not see me anymore, please know that I died in my apartment after being left alone."

She brushed both sides of his cheeks, looking over his features. Oh, he _was_ trouble. She seemed to wake out of her daze "Ok, I really am leaving." She exclaimed, opening the door.

Before she could leave, they made out at the entrance of the stairs.


End file.
